Opening: Pilot
by SarahKjrsten
Summary: Co-authored by Sarahkjrsten and Torigates. Bones, with one little change: What if it were Brennan with the child instead of Booth? An AU look at the Pilot episode and beginning of a series.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: **Opening: Pilot**  
Authors: **sarahkjrsten and torigates**  
Characters: **Ensemble**  
Summary: **Bones, with one little change: What if it were Brennan with the child instead of Booth?**  
Spoilers: **none **  
Rating: **PG-13**  
**

**Disclaimer: **We do not own Bones and we do not and will not make any money off of this fanfiction in anyway shape or form. We do not claim ownership in the writing of this fanfiction. This is an AU (alternate universe fanfiction) and therefore for obvious reasons a lot of dialogue is taken directly from the series. No copyright infringement is intended.

**A/N:** This labor of love came about when SarahKjrsten asked the seemingly simple question: What if it were Brennan with the child? Obviously we're both just crazy enough to try and answer it. Originally posted on the livejournal community onelittlechange, we've decided to repost it here to share it with more readers. **From Sarah: **I want to thank Tori for being the absolute best co-author a girl could wish for. She's gone from indulging me in a whim of mine to helping write what has turned out to be a huge project. And she laughs at my jokes, which really, what more could I want? **From Tori: **This fic would not be what it is without Sarah's constant support and willingness to brainstorm ideas and plotlines. Most of the genius comes from her. (**From Sarah:** Tori is very modest)

Temperance Brennan tapped her foot impatiently as she stood in line in customs at Dulles International Airport. The man five people ahead of her was fumbling through his wallet for his customs slip and loudly asserting that he was sure he had had it just a second ago. She wished they would open up another window and process the line of travelers faster. She had things she needed to do. People she needed to see.

She adjusted the grip on her duffel bag and checked her watch. The past thirty eight days, while intellectually stimulating and incredibly beneficial to the grieving families of Guatemala, had left her physically and emotionally exhausted. She had plans that night to climb into her bathtub and soak in the water until it went from steaming hot to, well, chilled.

She had other plans too, though they were not plans of the relaxing variety. She still had five days before she was due to return to work and she needed to pack up her apartment and move everything to the condo she had purchased in a suburb in Maryland. She'd never stepped foot in the condo—having purchased it while in Guatemala—but it was in a good neighborhood with excellent schools and easy access to the roads she would need for her morning commutes to the Jeffersonian. She'd been able to purchase the condo with the generous advance for her next book. A book she also had to begin writing.

As she shuffled forward a few more feet in line, Brennan wondered when she would find the time to write a second book. The only reason the first book had been written was because the doctor had put her on bed-rest for twelve weeks and had forbidden her from working from bed. With a full time job and active two year old on her hands this time around, she really didn't see how she could get a second book written.

Genevieve was also part of Brennan's plans. The toddler, a wholly unexpected addition to her life, consumed vast amounts of her time and attention. When she had decided not to abort the fetus she had assumed that with a well-structured plan with a variety of different stimuli she would find parenting no different than leading her graduate level physical anthropology class through a semester.

Within the first week of her life Genevieve had quickly introduced her new mother to a harsh little something called reality. Brennan was grateful that her colicky baby had grown up into a relatively sweet and well-mannered toddler. She wasn't certain if she could have taken any more nights pacing her living room in tears begging Genevieve to just fall asleep.

She hoped that Genevieve hadn't been too much trouble for Angela over the past six weeks. She'd made certain that her best friend and daughter had access to all of Genevieve's educational toys and books. She'd called at least once every other day to check in. Although Genevieve's enthusiastically babbled recitations of what she had done that day had always brought a wry smile to Brennan's face—no matter how hot it had been that day, or how many snakes had tried to slither into her tent that night—she worried that perhaps the thirty month old girl had been a bit too much for Angela. After all, it wasn't every day that Angela was called upon to care for an exceptionally gifted small child.

And Brennan was certain that Genevieve was exceptionally gifted.

Finally reaching the customs window, Brennan handed over her passport and green customs slip and adjusted her grip on her duffel bag.

She also hoped that Angela had kept her word and kept Genevieve far away from Peter.

In retrospect it had been a very bad idea to go on a date with a man who had the audacity to ask her on a date after telling her that she had probably been irreparably psychologically damaged in her youth, but his physique had been exemplary and she hadn't had sex since the weekend Genevieve was conceived at the bio-archeology and forensic anthropology conference in Chicago three years ago. It had also probably been a bad idea to let Peter move in when she knew very well that the only thing holding their relationship together was their physical chemistry.

Besides, when he had told her that he was a psychologist she should have stopped things then and there, psychology was a soft science after all, and Brennan didn't place much stock in it, but he had been kissing her along her jaw and pulling her hips against his and rational thought had utterly eluded her. There was no excuse for her blatantly ignoring his admission that he wasn't terribly fond of children, though. He had told her that while she was trying to hold down Genevieve long enough to rinse the shampoo out of her hair in the bath.

It was a good thing, as Angela had told her, that she and Peter had broken up. Angela had said that she was all for her friend "getting some" but that the "some" shouldn't be with such a creep like Pete. Brennan supposed that Angela's dislike of Peter would be enough to ensure that she kept Genevieve away from him, but sometimes Angela's flightiness and utter aversion to logic and reason worried Brennan.

The customs officer handed her back her passport and welcomed her home. Brennan took her passport back and was a half a step away when she remembered to smile. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a man in a suit step out of the crowd and walk towards her. Stuffing her passport into a pocket, she strode through the airport, scanning the crowds for her tall, dark haired friend.

There, on the other side of the terminal she spotted Angela, Genevieve perched on her hip, talking to a man at an information desk. The artist set the girl on the counter and with a well practiced move, bared her lacy bustier to the man. Genevieve giggled and then, meeting Brennan's gaze, broke into a grin and waved.

"Mama! Mama!"

"Tell me that you tried 'excuse me' first," Brennan said, trying not to laugh.

"Sweetie!" cried Angela, whirling around. "Yes, I did," she said. Scooping Genevieve off of the counter she threw herself into her friend's arms. "Welcome home! Are you exhausted? Was Guatemala awful? Was it horribly backward?"

"And yet I was never reduced to flashing my boobs for information," said Brennan setting her bag down. She lifted Genevieve out of Angela's arms and hugged the little girl tightly to her.

"Mama home," said Genevieve, wrapping her arms around her mother's neck and patting Brennan's back.

"Yes, I'm home." Brennan kissed her daughter's cheek. Genevieve looked as if she had grown half an inch and felt as if she'd gained a few pounds while she was gone. The soft baby contours of her face were beginning to shift into the features of a child.

"Flash them for any fun reasons?" Angela asked.

Brennan picked up the bag she had set down to hold Genevieve and with her daughter on her hip and her bag in her hand, she led Angela through the terminal towards the exit. "I was literally neck deep in a mass grave—not romantic." The man in the suit was still shadowing her.

"You know," said Angela, pleased as punch that her best friend was home, "diving into a pit of cadavers is no way to handle a messy break up."

"Angela," said Brennan, "nothing Pete and I ever did was messy."

Angela giggled. "Then you were not doing the right things."

Brennan rolled her eyes.

"Mama, I a fish," Genevieve said, tapping her mother impatiently on the collar bone. Brennan looked at her daughter and smiled as Genevieve sucked in her cheeks and puckered her lips.

"We learned some party tricks," Angela said. "Gen, what does a fish say?"

"Gulp, gulp."

"What does a frog say?"

"Ribbet! Ribbet!"

"What does a horsie say?"

"Neigh!" said Genevieve and then snorted through her lips.

"What does a skeleton say?"

Genevieve said nothing and her face turned red from the effort of containing her laughter.

"I don't understand," said Brennan.

"Bones don't say anything because they don't have tongues," Angela said. "Gen thought of that one all by herself."

Brennan was about to point out to Angela how bright Genevieve was when she saw the man in the suit out of the corner of her eye. Without a word she pushed Genevieve into Angela's arms and dropping her bag, confronted the man behind her. "Sir, why are you following us?"

The man reached for her arm and Brennan stepped into a defensive position. He grabbed her, and Brennan twisted out of his way, bring up her hands, eyes darting to Angela and her daughter.

"Attack! Security! Hello? Who runs this airport?" Angela said.

Brennan moved fluidly through the Tae Kwon Doe movements she had been trained in to neutralize a hostile threat. Angela joined in by hitting the man with her purse. Genevieve, torn between fear and amusement settled for clutching Angela's neck with one hand while trying to hit the man with her other

"Kick his ass, sweetie!" Angela said.

"He ass, Mama!" said Genevieve.

"Police!" A man in uniform raced across the terminal followed by several more men and burst through the ring of people who had formed around Brennan and her attacker. He pulled out his gun. "Ma'am, step back now!"

"He attacked me," Brennan protested, though she let go of the man.

"I'm Homeland Security!" the man said. He straightened and shook his head a few times.

"Oh, little misunderstanding here," Angela said. Genevieve was squirming to climb out of her arms, and she so she set the girl on the ground. Genevieve wrapped one arm around Angela's leg and stared at her mother with wide eyes.

Brennan put her hands into the air. "You can put away your guns." She used the same tone of voice she used when she wanted Genevieve to sit in the naughty chair.

A few of the men started to follow her directions but the attacker scowled and said, "What is she in charge now? No. I'll tell you when you can lower your weapons." He turned back to Brennan and gestured at her duffel. "Hand over the bag."

Moving slowly to show that she wasn't a threat, Brennan bent over and picked up the bag. "Is that what this is about?" She'd been given a highly detailed reproduction of a skull that she and a colleague had uncovered at their site. Her colleague had created the reproduction for her to take back for an exhibit at the Jeffersonian. Because it was such a delicate reproduction she had chosen to pack it in her carry-on bag rather pack it with her checked luggage.

The man roughly unzipped the bag and Brennan swallowed a sigh of exasperation as the detailed model skull was revealed.

"Boo," she said, knowing that they would want to take her in for questioning now.

"Ma'am, I'd like you to come with me," the Homeland Security officer said, hastily zipping the bag closed again.

"Fine," said Brennan. She looked over at Angela who had picked Genevieve up again. "I'll get this straightened out. Don't wait for me here, I can get a cab home."

Two of the officers stepped forward and wrapped their hands around her upper arms.

"Sweetie..." said Angela.

"Mama?" Genevieve reached toward her mother.

Brennan was about to tell Genevieve not to be frightened, that this was all a misunderstanding and that she would back, but the men frog marched her away before she could. Genevieve wailed as her mother was taken away and Brennan twisted her head around and caught a glimpse of Angela covering Genevieve's eyes and carrying the toddler out of the terminal. Brennan felt as if she'd been hit in the stomach as she heard Genevieve crying. Her daughter didn't know what was going on, she only knew that her mother was being taken away.

Brennan wanted to break free from the men and run back to her daughter and promise her and reassure her that everything would be okay, but logically she knew that doing so would only exacerbate the problem. The most prudent course of action would be to answer the questions Homeland Security would have in a respectful and competent manner and then she would be free to return to Genevieve and explain the situation to her.


	2. Chapter 2

**Title: **Opening: Pilot**  
Authors: **sarahkjrsten and torigates**  
Characters: **Ensemble**  
Summary: **Bones, with one little change: What if it were Brennan with the child instead of Booth?**  
Spoilers: **none **  
Rating: **PG-13**  
**

**Disclaimer: **We do not own Bones and we do not and will not make any money off of this fanfiction in anyway shape or form. We do not claim ownership in the writing of this fanfiction. This is an AU (alternate universe fanfiction) and therefore for obvious reasons a lot of dialogue is taken directly from the series. No copyright infringement is intended.

Seeley Booth glanced down at the clock, and barely restrained himself from banging his fists against the steering wheel. He was so late, and traffic was moving along at a crawling pace. As Booth weaved in and out of the cars around him, he fought the urge to just turn on his sirens. That would mean more paperwork, and that was something Booth wasn't up for that right then… Or ever, really.

Keeping his eyes on the road, Booth fished for his cell phone in his pocket, and punched in a phone number. "This is Agent Booth with the FBI," he said once someone had picked up the other end, "Requesting a hold for questioning on Temperance Brennan."

Booth gave the rest of the details on Brennan's flight and arrival time before hanging up. It was Jared's fault Booth was running so far behind. His brother had held him up in the morning, when the two of them had gotten into a fight over whose turn it was to do the groceries. His brother could be so selfish sometimes, and consequently Booth was late for everything all day long. To top it all off Deputy Director Cullen had called Booth into his office and chewed him out for a good twenty minutes, before assigning this new case to him. Then he had spent over an hour on the phone trying to get a hold of Dr. Brennan, but her assistant wouldn't give an inch. It was only through sheer luck that Zack had let it slip that Brennan wasn't even in the country. Booth had figured out the rest on his own. Sometimes it paid to work for the FBI.

Booth really needed this case to go well. Things had been rocky at the bureau lately, the last few cases he led had been complete busts, either ending with their prime suspect getting off due to technicalities, or not ending at all due to lack of evidence. The last thing Booth needed right now was anymore trouble at work.

He used his badge to get through security at the airport, and someone showed him to the room where they were holding Brennan. He could see the top of her head through the window on the door. She looked bored. Booth shook his head, only Bones.

He opened the door a crack and voices drifted through.

"I'm not a sociopath," Brennan said sounding tired and frustrated. "I'm an anthropologist at the Jeffersonian." Booth held in a snort. From what he'd seen of Brennan and the squints she worked with, it was pretty damn close to the same thing.

"Who works for the FBI. Which I'd maybe believe if you had an ID that did more than allow you access to the cafeteria." Booth flinched. That detail was definitely going to come back and bite him in the ass. Booth could vividly remember the last conversation he had with Brennan where she called him out for not treating her as an equal. Homeland Security continued to detail all of Brennan's crimes, Booth thought it was time to make his presence known and stepped fully into the interrogation room.

"Look," Brennan said. "I'm sorry if I embarrassed you in front of your friends, but next time you should identify yourself before attacking me." Brennan turned her attention towards Booth, glaring at him. "What are you doing here?"

Booth stepped through the door and added an extra swagger to his step. Brennan's glare could have made even Chuck Norris cry, but Booth had been expecting that. He figured she was all bark and no bite. Not much bite at least. He held up his badge for the Homeland Security Agent. "FBI. Special Agent Seeley Booth, Major Crime Investigation, D.C." He paused for dramatic effect. "Bones identifies bodies for us."

She sputtered like he figured she would. "Don't call me Bones!" A hint of an injured pride induced sulk entered her voice. "And I do more than identify."

Booth held in a smirk. He had almost forgotten how annoying she was. Almost--but not quite. That was why he'd come prepared this time. "She also writes books," he said holding up the copy of Brennan's book. As he slid it across the table Brennan's venom filled eyes bored into him.

The agent picked it up and flipped the book over. He humphed at the overly dramatic black and white photo on the back. "Fine, she's all yours."

Booth smiled. At least something was going right. "Great," he said to Brennan. "Let's grab your skull and let's vamoose."

He ushered her out the door, not listening to her protests. He should have realized Brennan would see through the flimsy hold for questioning, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

Ten minutes later, Booth's patience was wearing very thin. It wasn't like Booth had been expecting a lot of gratitude from Brennan, especially after she saw through his ruse, but a _little_ would be nice. At the very least she could deny the fact that she has explicitly told her assistant not to take his calls. By the time she threatened to cry kidnap, he had just about had it.

The last time he'd been this irritated with someone it had been five years ago when he'd come back from Atlantic City to find out that Jared wrecked his car. Then he'd given Jared a shiner and he'd felt a lot better. He couldn't take that course of action now. He didn't hit women. Not even a woman who gave Dave Brown a run for his money.

Booth jerked the car over to the side of the road, barely checking his blind spot and consequently barely missing a jogger. Brennan was out of the car before he'd even had a chance to throw the SUV into park.

"I'm going home," Brennan said marching away from him.

"Great!" He shouted, running after her. The other case they'd worked together he'd spent the better part of an hour chasing her through the halls of the Jeffersonian trying to get her to sign off on some paper work. "Could we...look, could we just skip this part?"

Brennan whirled around so abruptly her duffel bag pummeled her in the thigh. Booth fought back a wince. "I don't think so," she said. "You had me pulled into questioning just for your own purposes!" She was literally spitting the words at him she was so angry.

"I explained that already!" For a genius, Booth thought, she was sure slow on the uptake. "I just need your help, what's the big deal?"

"What's the big deal?" Brennan echoed incredulously. "I haven't been home in six weeks! You humiliated me in front of my--" she broke off abruptly.

"And I have a decomposing corpse on my hands." He realized that he was still shouting at her.

Brennan spun around on her heel and marched away from him again. Booth took a deep, calming breath. "What's it going to take?" he asked.

Brennan hesitated. She stopped and turned around. "Full participation in the case. We wrap this up as fast as possible and you never ask for my help again."

Booth groaned inwardly. He needed Brennan. He hated her. He thought she was a smug, pretentious bitch with a stick up her ass the size of Texas but dammit, he needed her. Without her smarts he'd never land and keep lead agent on a case. However, if she walked now he was royally screwed with this new case. "Fine," he said.

"Not just lab work, everything." She cocked her head to the side, clearly expecting him to turn her down.

Crap. The woman was persistent. "What, do you want me to spit in my hand? We're Scully and Mulder." He was going to have a hell of a time explaining this to Cullen, but he would face that later. He needed to solve this case, and as much as he hated to admit it, he knew he wasn't going to do that without Brennan's help.

"I don't know what that means," Brennan told him.

He sighed. "It's an olive branch. Just get back in the car."


	3. Chapter 3

**Title: **Opening: Pilot**  
Authors: **sarahkjrsten and torigates**  
Characters: **Ensemble**  
Summary: **Bones, with one little change: What if it were Brennan with the child instead of Booth?**  
Spoilers: **none **  
Rating: **PG-13**  
**

**Disclaimer: **We do not own Bones and we do not and will not make any money off of this fanfiction in anyway shape or form. We do not claim ownership in the writing of this fanfiction. This is an AU (alternate universe fanfiction) and therefore for obvious reasons a lot of dialogue is taken directly from the series. No copyright infringement is intended.

Brennan arrived home shortly after one. Angela was sitting on her couched wrapped up in a throw watching a telenovela on Univision. Dropping onto the couch next to her friend, Brennan folded her legs up under her and sank back into the cushions.

"So that Agent Booth dude had you stopped by Homeland Security just so he could swoop in and rescue you, huh?" Angela asked, her eyes never leaving the melodrama playing out on the television screen.

Brennan nodded, too beyond exhausted to talk. She'd been awake since three that morning traveling to the airport in Guatemala City. She was beginning to feel the effects of being up for twenty two hours straight. Her head felt woozy.

"If it hadn't scared the shit out of Genevieve I would say that it was hot," said Angela.

At the mention of her daughter, Brennan straightened, the fog of exhaustion receding. "Is she okay? Did you explain to her that my detainment was a misunderstanding? Did you assure her that I would be back?"

"Yeah," said Angela, she looked away from the television to her friend. "I promised her that you'd be here when she woke up."

Brennan got up off of the couch in one fluid movement and walked with brisk purpose to her daughter's room.

Genevieve was curled on her side in her crib. A white pacifier in her mouth, one fist clutching her stuffed hippopotamus the other holding a blanket to her chest. Brennan leaned against the side of the crib watching the toddler sleep. She reached in and brushed Genevieve's disheveled dark curls out off of the girl's face.

Stirred awake by her mother's touch, Genevieve blinked her eyes and frowned, on the verge of crying then she saw that it was Brennan bending over her crib.

She spat out her pacifier and said, "Mama."

"Hi," said Brennan. At times like these she half wished that she felt comfortable using the terms of endearment than other people found so easy to say, but words like 'sweetheart' and 'honey' stuck in her throat as unpleasant reminders of her long vanished parents.

Genevieve said something indistinct, but her meaning was made clear as she scrambled to her feet and wrapped her arms around Brennan's neck.

For the first time since she had confronted the undercover Homeland Security agent, Brennan lifted her daughter into her arms and held her. Genevieve had grown in the past six weeks. She had always been in the ninety fifth percentile in height and though Brennan would have to measure her accurately in the morning she estimated that Genevieve had grown at least two and a quarter centimeter while she had been gone. But aside from pondering Genevieve's physical development, Brennan found something inherently comforting in holding and hugging her daughter after her first prolonged absence. With Genevieve's arms, still pudgy and dimpled with what was commonly known as 'baby fat', looped around her neck, her leg's wrapped around her waist and her warm, reassuring weight snuggled against her chest, Brennan felt a sense of belonging, of being home, that had been painfully lacking for the past month and a half.

Brennan would have been content to stand with Genevieve in her arms for the rest of the night, but the girl was all too soon squirming to get down, intent on playing with her toys.

"Not now, Genevieve," said Brennan. "It's night. You can sleep with me tonight."

Content with this decision, Genevieve rested her head on her mother's shoulder and said, "I sleep, Mama."

"Yes, you will sleep with me," said Brennan. With one hand she scooped up blanket, pacifier and hippopotamus and then she slipped out of the room.

Angela had gone. The television was off and the room was lit only by the outside street lights shining through the windows. Brennan walked down the hall to her bedroom and dropped her daughter's things on her pillow. She pulled the blankets back and then mother and daughter crawled beneath the covers.

Genevieve wiggled closer to Brennan, resting her head of wild curls on Brennan's pillow. She patted Brennan's cheek and put her pacifier in her mouth.

"Sing, Mama," she said around the pacifier.

"Good night, Genevieve," Brennan sang, "Good night, Genevieve, good night, Genevieve, it's time to say good night." It was a song her mother hand sung her, one that as an adult Brennan had realized had been adapted from the movie The Music Man. The first night she had brought Genevieve home from the hospital she had found herself singing her mother's lullaby to her own daughter. She'd wiped her tears off of Genevieve's small head.

"Sing hippo," said Genevieve, blinking languidly.

Brennan dutifully and irrationally, sang to the toy hippopotamus. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Title: **Opening: Pilot**  
Authors: **sarahkjrsten and torigates**  
Characters: **Ensemble**  
Summary: **Bones, with one little change: What if it were Brennan with the child instead of Booth?**  
Spoilers: **none **  
Rating: **PG-13**  
**

**Disclaimer: **We do not own Bones and we do not and will not make any money off of this fanfiction in anyway shape or form. We do not claim ownership in the writing of this fanfiction. This is an AU (alternate universe fanfiction) and therefore for obvious reasons a lot of dialogue is taken directly from the series. No copyright infringement is intended.

Brennan woke up at half past five to the sensation of a wet, leaking diaper sitting on her stomach. Genevieve grinned broadly at her and declared: "I wet."

"I know," said Brennan. She lifted the girl off of her stomach and got out of bed.

Genevieve's diaper leak had been extensive enough to require changing and washing her sheets. She noticed, with a scowl as she carried the sheets to her washing machine and dryer stuffed into a cramped hall closet, that she'd forgotten all of her luggage in Booth's car the night before. She gave herself a quick once over in the hall mirror and decided that the clothes she had slept in looked serviceable enough to see her through another day—and besides, she'd be in the lab in her lab coat most of the day anyway.

She had Genevieve dressed and fed in under an hour and they were out the door by six twenty. She dropped the girl off at the Jeffersonian daycare and headed to the medico-legal lab, determined to get a head start on examining the remains she'd recovered the night before.

At nine, when she knew Dr. Goodman would be in, she set out in search of him with Zack trailing behind her.

"Ah, Dr. Brennan, I'm pleased to see that you've returned from your sabbatical in Guatemala. I look forward to hearing all of the details at the next department meeting," said the amiable museum director by way of greeting as Brennan and Zack ambushed him as he left his office.

Brennan said, "I was detained by homeland security yesterday at the airport."

Goodman chuckled. "Oh yes, I heard about that. I am most interested in seeing that skull replica. It must be quite well done to have caused that much of a stir."

"The replica was only a convenient excuse for my detainment. I was stopped because Special Agent Booth decided that having me all but arrested in an airport terminal in front of my thirty month old daughter would be the best way to assure my assistance on his latest case."

Goodman ignored her sarcasm and said, "I don't think that Special Agent Booth was aware that your daughter was present or else he would have found a less overt way of enacting his revenge."

"Revenge?" said Brennan.

"Dr. Brennan, 'accidentally' handing him the wrong case file before he met with his higher ups was a transparently spiteful move at best."

"He 'forgot' to have the remains sent to the Jeffersonian," Brennan protested. "I simply had to rely on my memory when providing him with the case file."

"His absent-mindedness was no doubt induced by your cold refusal to acknowledge his presence when first introduced to you," Goodman said.

"He picked up an ulna," said Zack, speaking for the first time. "Without gloves."

"Dr. Goodman, I wish you wouldn't just give me to the FBI." Brennan quickened her pace to keep up with him. "They require me at all times day or night with little regard for my plans or the time I wish to spend with my daughter."

"As a federally funded institution," said Goodman, "the Jeffersonian must seize every opportunity to prove our worth to our friends in Congress which means I loan you out as I see fit, especially to federal agencies."

"'Loan out' implies property, Dr. Goodman, and the FBI will never respect me as property."

Goodman's face softened. "I do not view you as property, Dr. Brennan. You are one of the Jeffersonian's most valuable assets."

Brennan knew that Goodman saw her as some sort of wayward daughter and his praise, coupled with his firm denial of request made her uncomfortable.

"An asset is," said Zack, "by definition, property."

"What is the rule, Mr. Addy?" asked Goodman with a long suffering sigh.

Zack's head dropped and he exhaled in dejection. "You only converse with PhD's. You realize," his voice brightened, "I am halfway through two doctorates? Two halves make a whole, so mathematically speaking--"

"Go polish a bone, Mr. Addy," Goodman said dismissively.

Zack threw up his hands and turned around, heading back to the lab by way of the paleontology department.

Brennan continued trailing after Goodman as he strode through the atrium. "Dr. Goodman, FBI agents will never respect any of us as long as you simply dole out scientists like office temps."

Goodman suppressed a smile, "Dr. Brennan, are you playing me?"

"You know I'm no good at that," Brennan said.

"Mmmm," said Goodman thoughtfully. "Thus far, but you have a disturbingly steep learning curve." 


	5. Chapter 5

**Title: **Opening: Pilot**  
Authors: **sarahkjrsten and torigates**  
Characters: **Ensemble**  
Summary: **Bones, with one little change: What if it were Brennan with the child instead of Booth?**  
Spoilers: **none **  
Rating: **PG-13**  
**

**Disclaimer: **We do not own Bones and we do not and will not make any money off of this fanfiction in anyway shape or form. We do not claim ownership in the writing of this fanfiction. This is an AU (alternate universe fanfiction) and therefore for obvious reasons a lot of dialogue is taken directly from the series. No copyright infringement is intended.

It was after seven when Zack poked his head into Brennan's office and told her that the remaining skull fragments has been stripped of their flesh. Brennan, who had been on the phone with Angela nodded her head to let her student know that she had heard him and quickly ended her conversation.

"I have to go, I need to reconstruct the skull," she said.

"Can't you do that in the morning?" Angela asked. "Give Genevieve her bath, tuck her in. Sleep in your own bed for longer than a cat nap."

Brennan sighed and rubbed her forehead. "The sooner I get the skull reconstructed the sooner the case can be solved and the sooner the case is solved the sooner I can wash my hands of this entire on-loan-to-the-FBI thing altogether."

"You're welcome, by the way," said Angela.

"Thank you for picking up Genevieve and watching her again tonight," said Brennan. "I'll call you when I'm on my way home."

The skull fragments, scattered across the work table on the lab platform, were more numerous than Brennan had remembered. She drew up a stool and leaned forward, studying them, looking for pieces large enough to be easily identifiable.

As pieces jumped out at her (here a shard of the subparorbital process, there a jagged square from the mandible) she slid them across the table into groupings with one slender finger. It was like finding the corner pieces first to a puzzle. Find the corner pieces and the rest of the puzzle's frame fell naturally into place.

She used a glue of her own concoction stored in one of Genevieve's old Elmer's glue bottles to fix the pieces together. Bit by bit, the skull began to take shape in front of her. As she worked she wondered if perhaps Genevieve might be old enough now to appreciate the simple beauty of methodically piecing a new and unfamiliar puzzle together. The last time Brennan had brought out a puzzle Genevieve had tried to eat the pieces.

The gray light of predawn was stealing through the vaulted skylights as Brennan finished her reconstruction. Her head was heavy and her eyes were gritty. The short hours of sleep she had had the night before seemed far off. With a yawn she closed the glue and rested her chin in her hand. Her eyes slid closed of their own volition and folding her arms on the table top, she settled her head on them.

She intended to rest for only a few minutes, but she was woken up a full hour later when Zack set a cup of coffee on the table by her head. She was too grateful at the sight of the steaming caffeinated beverage to reprimand him for bringing it onto the platform and she downed it in four gulps.

Temporarily revived, she gathered her luggage, which Booth had dropped off the day before, and set off for her apartment. The early morning sun sent low rays of warm light cascading across the DC landscape. Although it was late July, compared to Guatemalan mornings, the air felt chilly.

She mused as she hiked across the Mall that in less than a week's time she wouldn't be able to walk to work anymore. The condominium she has purchased was much too far away from the Jeffersonian to realistically walk to and from. She frowned as she realized she had yet to begin packing for that move and she supposed she should make a few calls to professional movers.

Angela was watching Dora the Explorer with Genevieve on the couch when Brennan arrived.

"Mama!" Genevieve said. She bounced off of the couch and ran to Brennan her arms out stretched.

Brennan lifted her up and was rewarded with a wet kiss below her right eye. Angela turned the television off and stood up stretching.

"I take it the skull was in worse shape than you'd thought."

Brennan nodded. Of Genevieve she asked, "Are you hungry."

"No," said Genevieve while nodding her head.

"Are the markers placed for me?" asked Angela.

Brennan nodded again as she walked into the kitchen with Genevieve on her hip.

"'Kay, I'll go get started on those then. I'll give you a call when I'm done. I made you some coffee, by the way." Angela followed Brennan into the kitchen.

The anthropologist put Genevieve down and snagging a mug out of the dish drainer, poured herself some coffee. She yawned and scrubbed her eyes with the back of her wrist.

"Sweetie, you need to go to bed."

"What time is it?" Brennan asked. She swallowed some coffee and grimaced as it burned her tongue. She wouldn't be able to discern tastes accurately for a week now.

"Quarter after six," said Angela. "Genevieve was bright eyed and bushy tailed at, like, five."

Brennan furrowed her brow in concern. "Bright eyed? That can often be indicative of a fever." She set her cup down and grabbing the toddler (who had been standing on a step stool at the sink playing in the soapy dish water) around the waist she hoisted her into her arms and critically assessed her appearance.

"She's fine, Bren. I meant that she was wide awake."

"Oh," Brennan said.

"No, no, no, no," said Genevieve as she tried to wiggle free from her mother's arms.

"Genna, would you like to take a N A P with Mommy?" Angela asked in a singsong voice.

"I no nap," stated Genevieve.

But by the time Genevieve had eaten half a piece of toast and Angela had left, the girl acquiesced, and snuggled next to Brennan in Brennan's bed. She was awake, but too engrossed in flopping her hippopotamus up and down on her stomach to bother Brennan.

Sleepily Brennan wondered if co-sleeping was still culturally acceptable in the United States—she'd found people to be notoriously narrowed minded in the arena of child rearing. Then her thoughts skittered in the direction of the case and dreams of Genevieve digging in the sand and finding a shattered skull crept into her mind.

She heard something clatter to the ground and her eyes sprang open. She looked to her left and saw Genevieve sleeping next to her, thumb in her mouth for lack of a pacifier.

Half asleep memories of her kidnapping in El Salvador, given extra power by a surge of adrenaline, swirled between memory and reality.

Brennan reached over Genevieve and fumbled around for the baseball bat she had hidden under the bed. She didn't think that she had enough time, nor steady enough fingers, to enter the combination in the gun safe. Her heart beat roared in her ears as she scrambled out of the bed. Genevieve rolled over, but didn't wake up. Brennan was never more thankful that Genevieve was a sound sleeper.

She shut the door as quietly as she could behind her and sneaked down the hall, gripping the bat to the point that her knuckles turned white. Her mouth was dry and she could only breath in shallow pants.

There was a man, his face shadowed, slinking through the bead curtain carrying her television. The only coherent thought in Brennan's mind was a primal need to protect her daughter and prevent this stranger from leaving her apartment with her television.

She swung and the force of the bat hitting the television was enough to make her hands and arms feel as if they were humming with the aftershock.

The thief crumpled to the ground underneath the fragmented carcass of the television.

Brennan gathered her courage and peered around the remnants of the television to see who it was that she had felled.

"Peter?"


	6. Chapter 6

**Title: **Opening: Pilot**  
Authors: **sarahkjrsten and torigates**  
Characters: **Ensemble**  
Summary: **Bones, with one little change: What if it were Brennan with the child instead of Booth?**  
Spoilers: **none **  
Rating: **PG-13**  
**

**Disclaimer: **We do not own Bones and we do not and will not make any money off of this fanfiction in anyway shape or form. We do not claim ownership in the writing of this fanfiction. This is an AU (alternate universe fanfiction) and therefore for obvious reasons a lot of dialogue is taken directly from the series. No copyright infringement is intended.

Ten minutes later saw Brennan handing Peter a cup of coffee while he slouched on her couch nursing his wounds. Genevieve (not even she could sleep soundly enough to miss her mother taking a bat to a man carrying a television) knelt at the coffee table scribbling across five sheets of paper. Most of the broken television had been cleaned up and carried down to the dumpster and Brennan idly wondered how Genevieve was going to take it when she realized that no television meant no Blue's Clues.

"It's not rational for you to choose the first day I'm back to reclaim your television," she said as she sat down across from him. Then she remembered that this wasn't the first day she was back, but the third. She scowled and made a mental note to give Agent Booth a death glare the next time she saw him.

"While you were away, I thought a lot about why we broke up," Peter said. He took a sip of his coffee and frowned. It was cold.

"We fought all of the time and we don't like each other anymore. Anthropologically speaking, it is detrimental for the well-being of a child if its mother is involved in such a poor relationship."

"We fought," said Peter, "because you are emotionally distant and cold, but sexually speaking, I think you'll agree--"

"You didn't come for your TV; you timed this for a booty call!" Brennan was outraged at the audacity of her ex-boyfriend. She plucked the coffee cup from his hands and hauled him to his feet. "Okay, you're leaving."

"Your intimacy issues," said Peter over his shoulder as Brennan forcibly pushed him down the hall, "are probably due to being orphaned so young."

"Ugh." Brennan was regretting getting drunk that one night and telling Peter about her parents. She was never going to mention her family (parents, Russ, Genevieve) to anyone again. "I hate psychology and you're just horny."

"Brennan," said Peter.

She hated that he always called her by her last name. She despised nicknames. The only person allowed to call her Brennan was Angela and Angela was her best friend and Angela had special privileges.

"Brennan," said Peter again, "do you really want to spend the rest of your life alone?"

"Okay, I don't know about the rest of my life, but I sure as hell wish I were alone right now." She yanked the door open and shoved Peter across the threshold.

"So, what? We split the cost of the TV?" Peter asked as he twisted around to face her.

"Goodbye." Brennan slammed the door in his face.

Her phone rang.

From down the hall Brennan heard Genevieve race across the living room. There was a pause and then: "Hi!"

Another pause.

"Mama, it Ang'la!" 


	7. Chapter 7

**Title: **Opening: Pilot**  
Authors: **sarahkjrsten and torigates**  
Characters: **Ensemble**  
Summary: **Bones, with one little change: What if it were Brennan with the child instead of Booth?**  
Spoilers: **none **  
Rating: **PG-13**  
**

**Disclaimer: **We do not own Bones and we do not and will not make any money off of this fanfiction in anyway shape or form. We do not claim ownership in the writing of this fanfiction. This is an AU (alternate universe fanfiction) and therefore for obvious reasons a lot of dialogue is taken directly from the series. No copyright infringement is intended.

"Is it paranoia that Monica Lewinsky was a KGB trained sex agent mole?" Hodgins called after Booth that afternoon as he stormed away from the Jeffersonian. Brennan chased after him, but he showed no signs of slowing down.

"So what do you do first, confront the Senator?" she asked him hoping along to keep up with his brisk pace. She hadn't changed her mind, she still wanted the case over with as quickly as possible, but she couldn't deny that there was a certain appeal to working on the case—to finding the answer; what she imagined Angela would refer to as a romantic allure.

Booth didn't stop walking, but Brennan could tell he was considering what to say next. Brennan knew she wasn't always the best at reading people, but she also knew that wasn't a good sign. "Listen, Bones," he started and Brennan immediately objected to the repulsive nickname. Booth ignored her. "I know we talked about you coming out in the field and all..."

Brennan felt an overwhelming anger build up inside her. He had promised her full participation in the case. It was the only reason she'd agreed to work with him. She'd seen his work. If he kicked her out, the case would drag on for months. She'd never see Genevieve at this rate. "You rat bastard," she snarled at him.

Brennan registered a look of surprise on Booth's face, but it seemed to only harden his resolve. "A case this big and the Director is going to create a special investigation, and if I line all my ducks up in a row I could, maybe, _maybe_ I can head it up."

Brennan didn't understand what he was saying, and she didn't care. If Brennan was going to work on this case, then she was going to do it in her own way and on her own terms. She wasn't someone's property, or a 'squint' to be ordered around. He couldn't solve this case without her and he knew it. "I don't know what that means, but I think I could be a duck," Brennan said hopping along next to him.

Brennan saw Booth set his jaw. "You're not a duck, okay!" he yelled. "On this one we stick to the book: cops on the street, squints in the lab."

Brennan was furious. She hadn't wanted to help Booth at all on this case. She had given up time she could have spent with her daughter, because he had promised her full participation in the case. He had promised to treat her like an equal. "Well in that case, the Jeffersonian will be issuing a press release identifying the girl in the pond." Brennan didn't care if she sounded vindictive and petty. She _felt_ vindictive and petty.

Booth looked taken aback. Brennan felt pleased that she could control this, at least. "You do that, I'm a dead duck. What are you trying to do?"

"Blackmail you."

"Blackmail a Federal Agent." He sounded stunned.

Brennan paused before responding. She wanted to be sure she knew what she was getting into. She wanted to help on the case, and she was tired of being treated as property, as someone's 'asset' to simply give out as they saw fit. "Yes."

"I don't like it."

"I'm fairly certain you're not supposed to."

Booth stared at her for a second. "Fine. You're in."

Brennan smiled.

She wasn't smiling later that day sitting in the Ellers' living room. The house was small, but neat. Brennan could see evidence of their lives together shining out everywhere she looked, pictures of Cleo growing up, the Ellers on family vacations—all things Brennan hadn't had growing up. Things she hoped to give Genevieve.

Brennan had been surprised that Booth made it his first priority to talk to Cleo's parents. Brennan had dealt with more victims than she could count, but it wasn't until after Genevieve was born that she began to identify with the victim's family as well as the victim. It was troubling how hard it had become to create the necessary distance between herself and the case.

The Ellers had led them into their library a wood paneled room filled with books. Brennan was surprised by some of the titles on the shelves. There were some fairly recent publications on unsolved missing persons cases as well as a large selection of books with spiritual sounding titles. She'd seen Booth sitting down across from Major and Mrs. Eller and she followed his lead and sat next to him.

Brennan watched Major and Mrs. Eller as Booth gave them the news, and she felt overwhelmed by their grief. It wasn't logical, and Brennan wasn't accustomed to it. She understood Cleo and the struggles she had been through, but looking around the Ellers' home Brennan found she understood them as well. She saw signs of the Major's military career, and what that must have cost him and the women in his family. She also understood the many challenges they must have faced as a couple raising a biracial child. Brennan didn't feel prepared to experience these feelings, and so she retreated, as she always did, into facts and science.

"Can you at least tell us if our daughter suffered?" Mrs. Eller asked.

Brennan thought about Genevieve, and what she would want if she were in the Ellers' position. The truth. She would want the truth. "Given the state of her skull," she started.

Booth glared at her. "Cleo never saw it coming."

It infuriated Brennan that Booth would lie so callously to a victim's family. If he could lie to them, what else was he capable of? After the interview, Booth marched away from the Ellers' house, not bothering to check if Brennan was following him. "Why did you do that?" Brennan asked. "Those people deserved the truth."

"Their daughter was murdered, they deserve the kindness of a lie," Booth shot back, still not looking at her.

Brennan couldn't believe what she was hearing. Brennan knew what it was like to be lied to—or worse—to never know the truth. If it were her, if it were her daughter who had been beaten to death, Brennan would want to know everything. Every detail. "There'll be an inquest report," Brennan countered.

Booth kept walking and didn't look back at her when he spoke; it annoyed her. "Which they won't read because they don't want to. Especially because toward the end, Cleo and her parents weren't even speaking."

Brennan mentally scrambled trying to remember when Cleo's parents had said that, but came up with nothing. All she has observed had pointed to two very loving parents mourning the death of their beloved daughter. "They told you that?" she asked.

Booth finally looked at her. "You know, getting information out of live people is a lot different than getting information out of a pile of bones, you have to offer up something of yourself first."

Not five seconds ago, Brennan had been annoyed when Booth wouldn't meet her gaze, but something about the look on his face combined with what he was saying, just enraged her further. What did he know about being a parent, or what it meant to lose a child? Who was he to lecture her? "What exactly did you do in the military?"

"See? See what you did right there, Bones? You asked a personal question without offering anything personal in return and since I'm not a skeleton, you get zilch. Sorry."

He didn't sound sorry. He also didn't say anything else to Brennan on the way back to the Jeffersonian. Faced with nothing but silence, Brennan was forced to consider what he said. Booth had been able to learn crucial information about Cleo and her parents that Brennan had missed, and while she didn't put much stock in psychology, she had to admit Booth had a point. If he was right about the Ellers, maybe he was right about Brennan too, maybe she only understood dead people.

"I'm still on the case!" she shouted after him, as he drove away.


	8. Chapter 8

**Title: **Opening: Pilot**  
Authors: **sarahkjrsten and torigates**  
Characters: **Ensemble**  
Summary: **Bones, with one little change: What if it were Brennan with the child instead of Booth?**  
Spoilers: **none **  
Rating: **PG-13**  
**

**Disclaimer: **We do not own Bones and we do not and will not make any money off of this fanfiction in anyway shape or form. We do not claim ownership in the writing of this fanfiction. This is an AU (alternate universe fanfiction) and therefore for obvious reasons a lot of dialogue is taken directly from the series. No copyright infringement is intended.

Brennan grabbed her lab coat went straight to the bone examination room after Booth dropped her off. Bathed in the cool white light of the bone storage containers she took a few deep breaths to refocus herself. She had work to do. She had to think about what Booth had said later.

Cleo's bones were meticulously laid out on the table as she had asked Zack to do before she left. She snagged a fresh pair of gloves from the box and snapped them on. Moving to the middle of the table she bent over the skeleton and scanned the pelvic region.

She heard, rather than saw, Zack join her. He'd brought in one of her forensic cameras and he set to work documenting the remains.

They were working in silence when Hodgins entered the room a half hour later. "In a nutshell; anxious, depressed and nauseous," he announced.

Brennan didn't bother looking up. "Take a sick day."

"Not me," he said. "Cleo Eller."

As Hodgins listed off the various medications Cleo was on, it dawned on her. It was rare, but this was one of the times when Brennan actually wished she wasn't right. "These aren't frog bones," she said slowly. "Cleo Eller was pregnant."

While Zack and Hodgins confirmed her findings, Brennan thought about what exactly this meant. Cleo Eller had been pregnant, and while Brennan wasn't one to believe that life began at conception, she felt the loss for not just Cleo, but her child as well. The woman had been severely depressed, to the point where she probably found it difficult just to function, and yet she wanted to live—and all this Brennan had learned just from her bones.

She thought about the day she'd finally taken a pregnancy test. It had been six and a half weeks since she'd first missed her period and she took the test in the Jeffersonian bathroom at Angela's prompting. She'd handed the test under the door to Angela and perched on the toilet seat lid, knees drawn up to her chest, dreading what the little plastic stick would say.

The two minutes had ticked by excruciatingly slowly and as the time passed, Brennan had mentally run through all of the biological changes wrought by pregnancy and the symptoms in which those changes manifested. She'd hit every one of them, right down to strange food cravings and morning sickness.

It was Angela's delighted squeal that had heralded her positive result and Brennan had slowly lowered her knees and put her feet on the floor. With a hand that she normally exercised such control over when examining remains she'd shakily touched her abdomen. There was a fetus in there. A person beginning inside of her. A whole life full of possibilities and promises growing and developing.

She'd realized that she and she alone had the responsibility to protect that person as they grew. She was the only one that fetus depended on for everything. If she chose to, the possibility of its life separate from her was gone. If she chose to, the fetus would become a baby which would become a person: independent and self-contained. It was a frightening responsibility. One she had sworn she'd never wanted. But there, in that bathroom stall, her hand quivering, she'd found that it was a responsibility that she didn't want to pass up on.

"Do you want to try to get a DNA reading, see if we can prove paternity?" Zack asked.

Brennan considered the question. This right here was the reason she wanted to be involved in the case. Booth might say that getting information out of alive people was different than getting information from their bones, but Brennan knew differently. Someone had to stand up for the victims. Someone had to speak for them when they couldn't speak for themselves. Still, what he said weighed on her. Brennan tried to push it out of her mind and focus only on Cleo but it was hard. "You can try, let's hope there's enough genetic material to test," Brennan said.


	9. Chapter 9

**Title: **Opening: Pilot**  
Authors: **sarahkjrsten and torigates**  
Characters: **Ensemble**  
Summary: **Bones, with one little change: What if it were Brennan with the child instead of Booth?**  
Spoilers: **none **  
Rating: **PG-13**  
**

**Disclaimer: **We do not own Bones and we do not and will not make any money off of this fanfiction in anyway shape or form. We do not claim ownership in the writing of this fanfiction. This is an AU (alternate universe fanfiction) and therefore for obvious reasons a lot of dialogue is taken directly from the series. No copyright infringement is intended.

Booth strode through the doors of the lab with one goal in mind. Find out where he stood on the case straight from the horse's mouth. In this case the horse was named Dr. Temperance Brennan and she would probably be less than forthcoming. He'd gotten an email an hour ago that said that she had determined that Cleo Eller was pregnant at the time of her death. He'd been perturbed at how distant and detached she had managed to sound in relating that information.

The woman was a soulless robot. There was no other explanation.

He rounded the corner and marched past the forensic artist's office and then there was a stretch of blank wall, a bench and three concrete support pillars between him and Satan.

It was the singing that slowed him down. It was the song that stopped him entirely.

There was someone in Dr. Brennan's office, someone who sounded entirely like the good doctor herself, signing 'The Ittsy Bittsy Spider.'

That was, well that was not natural.

Employing skills he had honed as a sniper, Booth utilized his environment to his advantage and found the perfect vantage point behind a concrete support column where he could see into Dr. Brennan's office without being seen by the occupants within it.

Brennan was sitting at her desk singing to a toddler who was curled up in her lap. Both the woman and the child were engrossed in their song, fingers fluttering to the hand motions that Booth half-remembered his mother teaching him. Finishing the song, Brennan snaked her arms around the girl and embraced her, kissing her forehead and then her cheeks.

The girl giggled. "Mama, Thumbkin."

Brennan, able to decipher the request, began another song with a familiar tune. She hid her hands behind her back and brought them out, a finger at a time to her listener's delight.

Booth was transfixed. There was no way that the woman, sweetly singing to the child in her lap was the same woman who had apparently made it her mission in life to irritate him at every turn. No way. This was Brennan's long-lost twin sister. This was Brennan after the lobotomy was reversed. After the Tin Woman got her heart.

"Where are the phalanges? Where are the phalanges?" sang Brennan, instantly erasing all doubt that she wasn't the Brennan Booth knew. "Here we are, here we are." She wiggled all of her fingers in front of the toddler who chortled with laughter.

Once this second song ended the pair in the office snuggled closer together. Brennan hummed a lullaby that sounded half familiar to his ears and stroked the girl's dark curls. Sleepily, the toddler reached into the pocket of her jean overalls and pulled out a pacifier and slipped it into her mouth. In the warm glow of the office lights, with her brown-auburn hair spilling across her face as she bent over the girl in her lap, Booth was reminded of the picture of Madonna and Child that used to hang in his grandfather's house.

"So you stalk people too?" Angela asked in a low voice.

Booth was proud that he didn't jump—at least not visibly. "Who's that?" he asked.

"Genevieve, Bren's daughter."

"Bones has a kid? She didn't tell me."

Angela gave him a pointed look. Then she said, "If you're here about the case, come back tomorrow. Brennan hasn't had a dinner with Genevieve in six weeks. Besides, you were a jerk to her this afternoon."

"Me? Do you have any idea what it's like to be around her?"

"Shhh!" Angela said, index finger in front of her pursed lips, eyes darting towards the office where Brennan sat with her daughter curled up in her lap, still humming and oblivious to their presence behind the pillar outside of her door. "Then go lick your wounds at home. Scram." 


	10. Chapter 10

**Title: **Opening: Pilot**  
Authors: **sarahkjrsten and torigates**  
Characters: **Ensemble**  
Summary: **Bones, with one little change: What if it were Brennan with the child instead of Booth?**  
Spoilers: **none **  
Rating: **PG-13**  
**

**Disclaimer: **We do not own Bones and we do not and will not make any money off of this fanfiction in anyway shape or form. We do not claim ownership in the writing of this fanfiction. This is an AU (alternate universe fanfiction) and therefore for obvious reasons a lot of dialogue is taken directly from the series. No copyright infringement is intended.

As Genevieve drifted asleep Brennan let her humming fade away. Her conversation with Booth earlier in the day replaying in her mind's eye. There was a nauseous bolt of truth in what he'd said, and even she could extrapolate the deeper meaning behind his words. He thought she was socially stunted, incapable of forming personal relationships with people.

The past fifteen years would certainly prove his line to reasoning true. She had formed only two personal relationships that had sustained—one of which was with her daughter (who depended on her for food and shelter), and the other was with Angela. Her relationship with Angela, however, Brennan thought, was due more to Angela's perusal of friendship than anything Brennan had done.

The fact of the matter was, she simply didn't know how to carry out a personal interaction with another person in a culturally acceptable manner. That morning Peter had said that her, what he termed as, intimacy issues stemmed from her parent's disappearance. Numerous state-appointed psychologists had told her as much during her stint in the foster-care system.

Genevieve's rhythmic sucking of her pacifier slowed, and as her jaw slackened, the artificial nipple slipped out of her mouth. It bounced off of her chest, dropped to the floor and rolled under Brennan's desk. Brennan waited for Genevieve to stir, but when the girl didn't, her mother relaxed. Brennan leaned her head back in her chair and stared aimlessly at the ceiling.

It would only be a matter of time before Genevieve was socially cognizant enough to be painfully aware of her mother's social shortcomings. What would happen then? Genevieve would either reject her and gravitate towards another, more socially adept, female figure (probably Angela) or she would follow Brennan's example and in adolescence and adulthood find herself in a similar predicament.

Angela leaned against Brennan's office door frame. "Hey, want to grab something to eat? Happy Meal for Genevieve a stiff drink for us? Non-topical application. Glug, glug, woo hoo!"

Brennan looked back at the ceiling and sighed. It was only half past eight, but she felt like she'd been awake for days.

"Come on, Sweetie," said Angela in a softer voice.

"What if Booth's right? What if I'm only good with bones and lousy with people?"

Angela walked into the office and curled up in one of the chairs across from Brennan's desk. Brennan swiveled in her office chair to face her friend.

"People like you."

"I don't care if men like me," Brennan said, thoughts instantly on Peter and Booth.

Angela chuckled and said with a wry smile, "Okay, interesting leap from people to _men_, but I'm sure it means nothing."

"I hate psychology," Brennan said. "My most meaningful relationships are with dead people."

Genevieve yawned and blinked a few times. With a hand still slow and heavy with sleep she began to trace her finger along the beads and pendants of Brennan's necklace.

"Who said that?" Angela asked.

"It's true," Brennan said. Her she adjusted Genevieve on her lap and continued. "I understand Cleo, and her bones are all I've ever seen."

At Angela's silence she continued: "When she was seven, she broke her wrist—probably from falling off of a bike—and two weeks later, before the cast was even removed, she got right back on that bike and broke it all over again.

"And when she was being murdered? She fought back, hard, even though she was so depressed she could hardly get up in the morning. She didn't welcome death; Cleo wanted to live."

Angela reached across the desk and put a hand on Brennan's arm. "Honey, you ever think that you come off kinda distant because you connect too much?"

Brennan blinked back unexpected tears. "I hate psychology, it's a soft science."

"I know," said Angela, her smile kind and understanding, "but, people are mostly soft."

"Except for their bones."

"Yeah," said Angela. She hesitated then asked, "You want some advice?"

"Happy Meal and glug, glug, woo hoo?"

Genevieve perked up at the words 'Happy Meal.'

Smiling at Brennan's attempt at a joke, Angela sobered and said, "Offer up a little bit of yourself every one and a while. Just," she paused, "tell somebody something you're not completely certain you want them to know."

Angela's words, though given with kinder intent were so close to Booth's earlier in the day that Brennan couldn't help but laugh. "God, that's the second time I've received that advice."

Angela grinned as she leaned back in her chair. "Well, you know, I give great advice."

"Mama," said Genevieve as she tugged on Brennan's necklace. "I hungry."


	11. Chapter 11

**Title: **Opening: Pilot**  
Authors: **sarahkjrsten and torigates**  
Characters: **Ensemble**  
Summary: **Bones, with one little change: What if it were Brennan with the child instead of Booth?**  
Spoilers: **none **  
Rating: **PG-13**  
**

**Disclaimer: **We do not own Bones and we do not and will not make any money off of this fanfiction in anyway shape or form. We do not claim ownership in the writing of this fanfiction. This is an AU (alternate universe fanfiction) and therefore for obvious reasons a lot of dialogue is taken directly from the series. No copyright infringement is intended.

When Booth was stopped on his way to the break room to refill his cup of coffee that morning and told that Deputy Director Cullen wanted to see him and his squint asap his gut told him that it would not end well. When he called her on his way back to his hole-in-the-wall of an office and she'd answered his call with this freakishly exhilarated tone in her voice and told him that she'd gotten the senator's DNA the feeling in his gut told him to begin filling out his resignation paper work. And when she had greeted him outside of Cullen's office with a report and a dejected expression saying that there hadn't been enough fetal DNA to do a test, Booth was ready to ask Cullen's secretary to find a priest for his last rites.

Less than five minutes into the meeting Booth was certain that things could not get worse, but Brennan just kept _talking_.

"When you work for the FBI, Dr. Brennan," said Cullen, arms crossed and a scowl planted on his face, "you're a Federal Agent—government property—I own you."

"I'm not certain that's accurate, sir," said Brennan.

Booth contemplated a swift blow to the pressure point behind her neck.

"Well, how's this for accurate? I could place you under arrest on a Federal charge right now for uttering threats against a United States Senator."

"What?" Brennan looked indignant and ready to launch into a rousing self-defense.

"Bones..." Booth muttered under his breath. The moment he spoke, Cullen rounded on him.

"I own her, but she was _your_ responsibility."

"Yes, sir," said Booth. The best course of action in a situation like this was to agree to anything Cullen said. Cullen wanted Booth to assume all responsibility? Fine. Cullen wanted Booth's firstborn son? Fine. Anything to make it through this meeting with his job intact.

Cullen pressed the intercom button on his phone and directed his secretary to send in Special Agent First. Booth wanted to slouch even lower into his chair. Brennan was looking at him with open curiosity.

"I warned you," Cullen said to Booth, "about taking squints out into the field, but you vouched for her—said she wouldn't screw up."

"Yes, sir." Booth regretted his harebrained scheme to use Brennan's bone voodoo to land lead agent.

"She accosted a Senator; assaulted his aid—that counts as screwing things up," said Cullen.

"No, no!" Brennan said, apparently no longer able to keep from butting in. "Booth didn't even know I was going to see the Senator. I wanted to get a sample of his DNA."

"Exactly," said Cullen, looking pleased as punch that Brennan had proven his point.

"Not helping..." Booth muttered to Brennan.

She gave him a confused look.

Cullen sat down heavily behind his desk and pinched the bridge of his nose as the door opened behind Booth and Brennan. She twisted around in her chair to see who it was, but Booth stared blankly at a spot to the left and a foot above Cullen's shoulder. Booth didn't want to have to see Patrick First's smug smile.

"Tomorrow morning I'm announcing the formation of a special unit to investigate the murder of Cleo Eller," said Cullen, "at which time your investigation will be officially terminated." He gave Booth a long, hard look. "You will not head the new unit."

Booth could feel the smarminess radiating off of First. "Congratulations, Patrick."

"No hard feelings," said First with glee that Booth thought he could have disguised better.

"Right," said Booth, his mind scrambling to come up with a way, any way, to salvage this situation.

"I need the complete case files in the morning."

"Of course, they'll be ready." Booth mentally ran through everything in Brennan's report. He'd only had time to give it a quick once-over while they were waiting for Cullen and all he'd read had been enough to make his stomach sink like a lead balloon.

"Thank you, Agent First," said Cullen.

Inspiration struck Booth. The same sort of flash of brilliant insight that had saved his hide growing up and during his stint in the military. "At least Dr. Brennan found out that Senator Bethlehem was having sex with Cleo," he said with as much casual flair as he could muster as he got to his feet.

Brennan was so surprised at his statement that she remained seated. "I did?"

Cullen gave Booth a curious look. "Report said there wasn't enough DNA in the fetal bones to determine paternity."

"Senator Bethlehem didn't want Dr. Brennan to take that gum, he's hiding something."

Brennan spoke up, "He didn't know there wasn't enough DNA."

"I suggest you," Cullen's face held nothing but disdain for the forensic anthropologist, "go back to your lab, Dr. Brennan, and get used to being there."

Even though Booth knew that Brennan wanted nothing more than to stay in her lab, the hurt look that crossed her face reminded him of Jared, when Jared was just a kid and didn't understand why their dad was mean.

"Come on, Bones," Booth said. He let her lead him out of the office. "You okay?" he asked once Cullen's door was shut behind them.

"Don't be nice to me after I got you in trouble," she said. She looked halfway to miserable.

"Your heart was in the right place," Booth said. Maybe that was her problem. She had all of the right intentions but she sucked at carrying them out.

"No," she said. "I'm not a heart person, you're a heart person; I'm a brain person. You vouched for me—"

"Forget it," Booth said, uncomfortable.

"No, I won't," she said. She bit her lip and looked down at her necklace, then asked, "You think it was the Senator?"

"Look," said Booth, stepping closer to her and lowering his voice, "the Senator has had sex with a dozen of these interns and he hasn't killed any of them. Our best bet is still the stalker."

"You want to check him out. We can, I don't...what do you call it? Roost him?"

The corner of Booth's mouth twitched. "Roust," he said.

There was something about Brennan that reminded him of something is grandfather had once told him: "Find a girl with a lot of spunk and gumption and, Seeley, you marry that girl." If he married Dr. Brennan his grandfather would have a heart attack and die. 


	12. Chapter 12

**Title: **Opening: Pilot**  
Authors: **sarahkjrsten and torigates**  
Characters: **Ensemble**  
Summary: **Bones, with one little change: What if it were Brennan with the child instead of Booth?**  
Spoilers: **none **  
Rating: **PG-13**  
**

**Disclaimer: **We do not own Bones and we do not and will not make any money off of this fanfiction in anyway shape or form. We do not claim ownership in the writing of this fanfiction. This is an AU (alternate universe fanfiction) and therefore for obvious reasons a lot of dialogue is taken directly from the series. No copyright infringement is intended.

For all of three and a half hours Booth thought that he and Brennan were working in perfect sync. They questioned Laurier, they gathered evidence then she went back to the squint cave and she and her squintlings had a powwow and things went decidedly downhill.

The squints had latched onto a scenario involving Senator Bethlehem with all of the tenacity of a Cowboy fan crashing a Redskin tailgate party. The same scenario that he'd been futility banging his head against ever since they'd identified Cleo. And it was just wrong. He couldn't put his finger on it, but he knew it was wrong. And it pissed him off how reasonable they made the wrong conclusion seem. Not to mention that if he went after a Senator (a _Senator_) his ass was grass.

So he'd said something angry and rash in the heat of the moment. Something about how Brennan and her squints didn't know anything about the real world. The glare she gave him as she stalked out of the room would have curdled milk.

Angela had reminded him that Brennan's parents had left her when she was fifteen. Said that that probably counted as the real world. Mentioned the kid again, this time adding that said kid's father was never even part of the picture.

Booth had felt like an ass. He'd read her file. After that first disastrous case he'd been looking for ammunition and he'd had the file pulled. Her parents left to go Christmas shopping one December day when she was fifteen and they never came back. She went into Illinois state care a few weeks later, stayed there until her grandfather showed up and took custody of her. He'd thought it ironic that they'd both been saved, in a sense, by their grandfathers.

Of course, the file hadn't said anything about the kid, but Booth had heard enough. Guys who knocked a girl up and then weren't man enough to take responsibility for their actions sickened him. If he'd ever gotten a girl pregnant he sure as hell wouldn't run. He'd be there for the girl and for the baby. He'd do his part in raising the kid.

With experiences like she'd had it was no wonder that Brennan held people at an arm's length.

She wasn't in her office when he'd gone to apologize and remembering that he'd once heard Charlie mention that he'd seen Dr. Brennan at the firing range before, he headed over there.

That was where Booth found Brennan. She was standing, feet spread shoulder-width apart, back straight, chin up. Her right hand wrapped around the handle of the gun, left hand cupped around the butt, supporting and steadying her aim. She fired her shots without hesitation. Booth wasn't surprised. He'd read in her file that she was good.

"Thought I'd find you here," he said when she removed her ear protectors. "You know, you being a good shot and doing martial arts, it's all your way of dealing. Who knows better than you how fragile life can be?"

Brennan glared at him. "Maybe an Army Ranger sniper who became an FBI homicide investigator?"

Booth shouldn't have been surprised that she knew. He'd refused to answer her question the other day and she struck him as the type who liked to have all of the answers. "You looked me up, huh?" He nodded at the gun. "Do you mind?"

"Be my guest."

"Thank you." Booth picked up the gun. He could either take a good shot, shut her up and send her fuming out, or he could take a lousy shot and keep the conversation going.

He took a lousy shot.

"Were you any good at being a sniper?"

"A sniper gets to know a little something about killers," said Booth, ignoring her taunt. "Senator Bethlehem? He's no killer."

"Oh, and Oliver Laurier is?" Her tone was sarcastic. Booth was sick of her pushing his buttons when he was trying to give her a fricking olive branch.

"The way I read Laurier," Booth said, backing her against the wall of the firing booth and leaning closer to her face, using all of his height and bulk to his advantage, to intimidate her, "he's unhinged. That makes him dangerous."

"That'd be your gut telling you that, correct?" said Brennan coolly. She didn't back away from him; she raised her chin and met his glower without flinching.

"You know, homicides? They're not solved by scientists." She was pissing him off. Standing there, for all intents and purposes unaffected by what he said. "They're solved by guys like me asking a thousand questions a thousand times, catching people telling lies every time. You're great at what you do, Bones, but you don't solve murders—cops do."

"Cleo Eller," said Brennan, enunciating every word with crisp clarity, "was killed on a cement floor sprinkled with diatomaceous earth. Traces of her blood will still be in that cement.

"One of us is wrong, maybe both of us. But if Bethlehem wasn't a Senator, you'd be right there in his basement looking for that killing floor. You're afraid of him."

Booth's eyes couldn't leave her smug face. Her icy gray eyes looked at him with contempt, her mouth was inked in pure self-confidence. There was none of the fragile woman, battered by an uncaring world that he'd had half a glimpse of in Angela's office. This woman would regard him with loathing and disdain and Booth was mesmerized.

"Your hypothesis is that squints don't solve murders and cops do," she continued. "Prove it. Be a cop." A feral smirk tugged on her lips and then she was gone.

Irritated that he hadn't gotten the last word, Booth picked up the gun. He should have made the good shot. Shut her up and had the last word. He whirled around the fired two good shots. Two perfect kill shots.

The thing that really bothered him was that she was not only right, but she knew it. 


	13. Chapter 13

**Title: **Opening: Pilot**  
Authors: **sarahkjrsten and torigates**  
Characters: **Ensemble**  
Summary: **Bones, with one little change: What if it were Brennan with the child instead of Booth?**  
Spoilers: **none **  
Rating: **PG-13**  
**

**Disclaimer: **We do not own Bones and we do not and will not make any money off of this fanfiction in anyway shape or form. We do not claim ownership in the writing of this fanfiction. This is an AU (alternate universe fanfiction) and therefore for obvious reasons a lot of dialogue is taken directly from the series. No copyright infringement is intended.

After leaving the firing range Brennan drove back to the Jeffersonian to pick up Genevieve. The toddler was playing with brightly colored blocks. Brennan slipped off her shoes, as per the childcare center's regulations, and padded across the carpeted floor and sat down across from her daughter.

"Yellow, pink, blue," said Genevieve as she stacked orange, green and purple blocks.

"No," said Brennan. "Green, purple, orange." She pointed at each block in turn as she said the color.

"Yellow," said Genevieve, holding up the purple block.

"Purple," said Brennan.

"Oh, purple." Genevieve nodded solemnly and set the purple block down. She held up a yellow triangle. "Purple."

"No, that one's yellow."

"Oh, yellow. Mama, yellow."

"Yes, that one's yellow."

Genevieve beamed. She gathered up her blocks in her arms and walked over to Brennan and plopped down in her lap. She babbled different color names as she inspected the blocks and Brennan felt the tension from the firing range dissipating. It was curious how she couldn't retain her righteous indignation when she was with Genevieve.

There was something simple, the antithesis of complex in interacting with a two year old. Genevieve was simple to understand. Her needs were basic and unburdened with emotional significance.

"I love you," Brennan whispered in Genevieve's ear.

"I love you, Mama," said Genevieve promptly. She dumped the blocks out of her lap and twisted in Brennan's lap and kissed her cheek. "We go home?"

"Yes, let's go home." Brennan stood and although she knew that she should allow Genevieve to walk under her own power, she didn't put her down. Instead she carried her across the room, and held her as she slipped on the little black Mary Jane shoes with the Velcro straps. Angela was responsible for those shoes and Genevieve loved them.

"I'm going to give you a bath tonight," Brennan said, running her fingers through Genevieve's hair.

Genevieve clapped her hands over her hair and with horror said, "Oh, Mama, no bath."

"You have to take a bath. It's unhealthy to be so dirty."

"Unhealthy?" Genevieve gave her mother a wary look.

"Yes." Brennan slung Genevieve's diaper bag and her satchel over her shoulder and balanced the girl on her hip. "I take a shower every day," she said.

"No, Mama," said Genevieve.

Brennan slipped her own shoes back on and nodded goodnight to Genevieve's teacher. She grabbed Genevieve's collapsible stroller and opened it up although she did not strap Genevieve in. "I will concede that I have not showered in the past few days, however, there have been extenuating circumstances that have prevented me from following my normal hygiene routine."

Genevieve nodded, and Brennan was pleased that she seemed to understand. Genevieve started talking about a 'doggie' she had seen—complete with barking and a keening whine that sounded remarkably like the dog Dr. Goodman's wife owned.

They walked through the Jeffersonian, past a gaggle of tourists who had managed to book the last available tour.

"Dr. Brennan!"

Brennan turned to see Zack running after her. He was holding her cell phone in his outstretched hand. She paused just inside the main foyer of the Jeffersonian. Five steps and she would be outside and on her way home. She could feed Genevieve supper at a reasonable hour, give her a bath. Perhaps take a bath herself that night instead of a shower. Five steps and she'd wash her hands of this whole FBI liaison debacle.

"Agent Booth called! He wants to see you."

She sighed and put Genevieve down. Genevieve promptly kicked her shoes off.

"I apologize for answering your phone," Zack said, out of breath, "but I thought that if Agent Booth were calling you it might pertain to the case and Angela says that you want this case to be over with as soon as possible so I thought it would be prudent to answer the phone—"

"What did he want?"

"I don't know, he just said that he wanted to see you. He's at his office."

Brennan looked at Genevieve who was busy trying to pull her shirt off over her head.

"She must be ready to potty train," said Zack.

Brennan looked up surprised both by his knowledge and his terminology.

"I," Zack looked at his shoes, bashful, "I have a large family and several nieces and nephews."

"I'll go see what he wants," Brennan said, taking her phone out of Zack's hand. "Genevieve, if you leave your pants on, I'll buy you a Happy Meal."

"Happy Meal!" cried Genevieve. She flung her shirt at Zack's head. 


	14. Chapter 14

**Title: **Opening: Pilot**  
Authors: **sarahkjrsten and torigates**  
Characters: **Ensemble**  
Summary: **Bones, with one little change: What if it were Brennan with the child instead of Booth?**  
Spoilers: **none **  
Rating: **PG-13**  
**

**Disclaimer: **We do not own Bones and we do not and will not make any money off of this fanfiction in anyway shape or form. We do not claim ownership in the writing of this fanfiction. This is an AU (alternate universe fanfiction) and therefore for obvious reasons a lot of dialogue is taken directly from the series. No copyright infringement is intended.

Booth was sitting in his office with the lights off, watching a home movie of Cleo's college graduation. The Ellers had given it to him right after Cleo had disappeared. Snippets of it had been shown on the local news, hoping to jog someone's memory. A tip line had been set up. He hadn't gotten a single useful lead from it.

He'd been watching the video over and over again since he'd gotten back from the firing range. Jared said that he brooded and sulked and obsessed over things. Booth thought that while he had a tendency to brood, he didn't _obsess_—at least not habitually.

He heard the sound of a squeaky wheel and the smell of McDonald's wafted down the hallway.

"Genevieve, you are not responding correctly to my bribe." It was Dr. Brennan's voice. She sounded halfway between exasperated and amused. "I gave you an unhealthy meal loaded with saturated fats and artificial flavorings and in exchange you were supposed to keep you clothes on."

"Yum, yum, Mama."

"I'll be right back. Please keep your shirt on."

It took all of Booth's willpower not to turn around when Brennan knocked on his door. He waited until she cleared her throat to acknowledge her presence.

"They look pretty happy, don't they? Otherwise they wouldn't turn the camera on, I guess," Booth said, his eyes never leaving the laughing Cleo on his television screen.

"Zack said you wanted to see me?"

Booth knew it was petty, but he couldn't help but needle her. "That something you don't like to talk about? Families?"

Brennan stiffened. From the hallway there was a sound of something suspiciously like a burger patty hitting the floor and then, "Uh oh."

"Temperance." Booth swung his feet down from where they'd been propped up on his desk and rubbed his eyes. "Partners? They share things. Builds trust."

"Since when are we partners?" she asked. Booth could see that her guard was up.

He hadn't wanted her to come over to fight some more. He wanted to try and patch things up. He picked up the warrant Charlie had just brought down to him. He handed it to Brennan.

She took it as if it were contaminated. Unfolding it, she scanned it quickly, the disgust on her face replaced with disbelief. "You got a warrant to search Bethlehem's place?"

"You were right," Booth said. She stood a little taller, looked vindicated. "If Bethlehem wasn't a Senator, I'd be in that basement, looking for that killing floor. But you're wrong," she deflated slightly, "I was never afraid of that guy, and I'm not doing this because you're a genius. I'm doing this for Cleo."

Brennan refolded the warrant and handed it back to Booth. "Thank you."

"Hey, little girl," said Charlie's voice from the hallway. "I don't think you're supposed to put french fries in your diaper like that."

"I have to go," said Brennan. "Call me and let me know what you find."

"You don't want to tag along?"

"I have other plans."

"What plans?"

But she was already on her way out the door mumbling something about a bath. The time Booth had gotten his jacket on and stuffed the warrant in his pocket the only evidence that Brennan had been down at all was a hamburger shaped smear of ketchup on the floor outside of his office. 


	15. Chapter 15

**Title: **Opening: Pilot**  
Authors: **sarahkjrsten and torigates**  
Characters: **Ensemble**  
Summary: **Bones, with one little change: What if it were Brennan with the child instead of Booth?**  
Spoilers: **none **  
Rating: **PG-13**  
**

**Disclaimer: **We do not own Bones and we do not and will not make any money off of this fanfiction in anyway shape or form. We do not claim ownership in the writing of this fanfiction. This is an AU (alternate universe fanfiction) and therefore for obvious reasons a lot of dialogue is taken directly from the series. No copyright infringement is intended.

Booth sat glumly next to Jared at the counter at Wong Foo's. Jared was on his fifth gin and tonic and Booth was nursing his beer.

"They won't even arrest him?" Jared asked. He was leaning heavily on the counter.

"Nope," said Booth miserably. Once again he'd listened to Brennan and once again he was royally screwed.

"But," said Jared, thinking hard, "If that's the hammer he used on the chick, then he'll get arrested."

"Hammer's not enough," said Booth. He raised his glass to his lips, but set it down without drinking. "Need the trifecta: physical evidence, murder weapon, crime scene."

"That sucks, man," said Jared.

"Tell me about it."

The brothers fell into silence. Jared finished his drink and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "M'm telling you, you should ask her out."

"What?" asked Booth, too wretched and not drunk enough to follow Jared's train of thought.

"The hot squint."

"Angela?"

"No, the bone-lady."

"Yeah, cause I want to hit on the woman who probably screwed up my chances of being lead agent forever."

Booth's phone vibrated in his pocket. He dug it out and looking at the caller ID, he groaned.

"Who's it?" Jared asked, sloppily leaning over to read the caller ID.

"Bones."

"Ha, you got her all hot and bothered when you got in her face today and now she wants some Seel-man loving." Jared slapped his brother on the back and picked up his glass. He frowned when he saw it was empty and waved it in Sid's direction.

Booth ignored him and flipped open his phone. "Booth."

"It's me, Dr. Brennan."

"Hi, Bones."

Her huffed sigh crackled like white noise. "I was bathing Ge—someone, and a thought occurred to me. Diatomaceous earth can be used as a filtering agent."

"What? For like swimming pools?"

"Or tropical fish. Oliver Laurier said that Ken Thompson kept fish."

Booth jumped off of the bar stool.

"Where're you going?" asked Jared.

To Brennan, Booth said, "Thompson read the warrant. He knows we're looking for die-ah-whatever. That special dirt." He snapped the phone shut. "Pick up my tab, will you, Jared?"

"Sure," said Jared as Booth rushed out of the restaurant. He slid Booth's half empty beer glass towards him. "Whatever you say, bro." 


	16. Chapter 16

**Title: **Opening: Pilot**  
Authors: **sarahkjrsten and torigates**  
Characters: **Ensemble**  
Summary: **Bones, with one little change: What if it were Brennan with the child instead of Booth?**  
Spoilers: **none **  
Rating: **PG-13**  
**

**Disclaimer: **We do not own Bones and we do not and will not make any money off of this fanfiction in anyway shape or form. We do not claim ownership in the writing of this fanfiction. This is an AU (alternate universe fanfiction) and therefore for obvious reasons a lot of dialogue is taken directly from the series. No copyright infringement is intended.

"You probably shouldn't have shot him," Brennan said as the paramedics loaded Thompson into the ambulance.

"Better me than you," said Booth. "Besides, I get trigger happy when I see someone trying to destroy evidence."

They were standing outside of Thompson's house in the halo of light spilling out of the windows, watching as FBI crime scene analysts combed over the scene. Brennan yawned, it was after midnight again.

"Why did you come anyway?" asked Booth.

Brennan didn't look at him, but stared at Oliver who was being questioned by Agent First. The pallid stalker was sweating profusely. "We're partners. I felt I ought to be there when you made the request."

"Partners, huh?" said Booth. He felt pleased in spite of himself.

"Yeah." Brennan still wasn't looking at him. "I have to go, I promised Angela I'd be back soon."

Angela was babysitting her daughter, Booth realized. "Angela seems like a good friend."

"She is," said Brennan. She walked away without saying goodbye.

Booth shoved his hands in his pockets and tried not to grin. Brennan had said they were partners.

#

The next time Booth saw Brennan was a week later at Cleo's funeral. They'd finished all of the necessary case paperwork via courier and Dr. Goodman had told the Bureau that Brennan had taken a week's vacation to move into a new house.

Brennan and the rest of the squints from the Jeffersonian, including Goodman, stood in a line slightly apart from the rest of the mourners. She was wearing a pair of just shy of knee high boots and a long black coat. For once her necklace looked fairly sedate. She was holding the hand of the curly haired girl he had seen a week and a half ago in her office. The girl was wearing a black velvet dress and was squatting and ripping out pieces of grass.

Booth nodded at her and walked over to stand between Hodgins and Dr. Goodman. Angela caught his eye and winked. Booth squirmed.

The service, Booth thought, was nice and afterward the mourners stepped forward one by one to place a rose on Cleo's coffin. Brennan tugged the toddler to her feet and the two walked up to the casket. Brennan handed the girl a rose and then lifted her up and the child dropped the rose onto the pile.

Cleo's parents stepped forward and shook Brennan's hand. Major Eller ruffled the toddler's hair and the girl swatted his hands and said something that made him laugh. He asked Brennan something and she passed her daughter over to him. As the Ellers chatted with her daughter, Brennan took a few steps back and put her hands in her pocket.

Booth walked over and nudged her with his shoulder. She looked at him and he gave her a smug smirk.

"What?" she asked.

"Told you it wasn't the Senator."

"And I told you who it was, so we're even."

"Except," said Booth, "We work on the same cases and you end up on the New York Times Best Sellers list."

Booth couldn't help but grin at the surprised expression on her face.

"I didn't know that!"

"Number three—with a bullet."

"That's good, right? The New York Times with a bullet?" She sounded elated, but uncertain.

"It means you're rich, call your accountant."

She laughed. "I don't have an accountant."

"Well, get one."

"Okay, how does that work?"

"Ugh," said Booth in mock exasperation. "You need to get out of the lab, you know. Watch TV, turn on the radio, anything! Pick up the phone and—" He broke off. Brennan was watching the Ellers. Angela was holding her daughter and the Ellers were laying roses on Cleo's casket.

"You know," said Booth, "If it weren't for you, those people would never know what happened to their daughter. That's got to be worse than the truth."

Brennan looked away from the funeral scene. "I know exactly how the Ellers felt about Cleo. My parents disappeared when I was fifteen and nobody knows what happened to them."

Booth was surprised. Here was Brennan offering up a little bit of herself. He licked his lips and responded in kind: "You know, being a sniper, I took a lot of lives. What I'd like to do before I'm done is try and catch at least that many murderers."

Brennan looked up at him, a laugh on her lips. "Please, you don't think there's some kind of cosmic balance sheet—"

Booth's countenance darkened.

Brennan sobered and thought for the space of a few seconds then said, "I'd like to help you with that."

Once again finding that he was pleased in spite of himself at one of Brennan's tentative, but honest statements, Booth shrugged and said, "Eh..."

She smacked him in the arm.

They fell into companionable silence, then she lifted her right arm and pointed at the girl. "That's my daughter. Her name is Genevieve."

"That's a nice name."

"I know," she said.

Booth rolled his eyes.


End file.
